


de Profundis

by Benzaiten (DaughterOfTheWest)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Timeline, Because seriously what the hell man, F/M, Feels, Gen, Logistics of how Roxy and Dirk survived as babies, Minor suggested Dercest, Oneshot, Other, References to Drugs, how does that even work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfTheWest/pseuds/Benzaiten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kid, this is the last time I'm going to talk to you."</p>
<p>Bro is leaning against a wall inside some lush apartment in Los Angeles, half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels loosely twined between his fingers. His red suit is rumpled and his shades are slipping down his nose and Dirk thinks he can see the glint of a tear at the corner of his eyes, but it can’t be. Bro is a Strider. He drops his head into his hands and rubs at his eyes beneath the aviators, trying to hide the break in his voice. He does hide it (and hides it well) but after watching this recording over and over and over Dirk can recite it word for word and tell you the exact time stamp when Bro loses his shit. It’s at 12 minutes and 43 seconds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	de Profundis

**Author's Note:**

> I found this while going through my fic folder the other day and figured I should post it. This was written during the 2013 HSWC for two different bonus round prompts, and the two fills were combined and expanded on to make this one shot.

kid this is the last time im going to talk to you.

Bro is leaning against a wall inside some lush apartment in Los Angeles, half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels loosely twined between his fingers. His red suit is rumpled and his shades are slipping down his nose and Dirk thinks he can see the glint of a tear at the corner of his eyes, but it can’t be. Bro is a Strider.

His head lolls down and he runs a hand through already tousled hair, but picks himself back up again quickly, like his composure can be regained if he takes a swig.

i dont know you. not really. at the present moment youre nothing more than a fucking twinkle in an ectobiologists eye. but i imagine what youll be like. what kind of man youll be. rose gave me a little bit of an idea but every time i fucking ask for more information she just says ‘oh visions dont work that way’ and so im left in the fucking dark up shit creek without a match or a paddle or whatever the fuck.

Swig.

im not going to be around anymore, bro. im not. and im doing my best to do right by you, to try and make sure that the batterbitch fails in trying to get her genocide on by making sure that you and roses girl dont die. but to do that, weve gotta go. rose has been--

He drops his head into his hands and rubs at his eyes beneath the aviators, trying to hide the break in his voice. He does hide it, and hides it well, but after watching this recording over and over and over Dirk can recite it word for word and tell you the exact time stamp when Bro loses his shit. It’s at 12 minutes and 43 seconds.

\--fuck. rose has seen this coming for a long fucking time. hell, if you told me ten years ago id be martyring myself for some kid id tell you to fuck the hell off and get me a beer while youre at it. but time does shit, man. it changes everything. and itll change you like its changed me and itll change the fucking world.

He puts down the bottle and grabs the camera, hoisting it closer to his face so Dirk can see the reflection of the blinking red recorder light mirrored in the black holes of those stupid fucking shades.

and times the thing thats robbing me of you, dude. so if i cant get to meet you then fuck the world, fuck time, and fuck condy. if im going to die then im going to die on my own fucking terms and take some juggalo bastards down with me. im going to die and im going to be a fucking hero while i do it. and-- and--

He growls and punches the floor and his face is red and salty and Dirk thinks he can taste it-- only to realize that he’s tasting his own tears. He’s the one who’s angry. He’s the one who is hurt. He’s the one who got fucking left behind.

The time stamp reads 12:51 when Dirk stops the video to go sit on the roof. The ejected DVD is still warm. He stares at the primitive disc in his hands and hates the way the light glares from its surface and into his eyes, making him squint. He doesn’t stop staring at the rainbows it makes or the blinding whiteness.

The sun has killed all of the shadows and if he stays out here much longer he’ll fry to death. In the cool of his solitary confinement island apartment he tosses the disc onto the desk and pulls out another one, a black “#1” scrawled across its surface in haphazard, chicken scratch sharpie markings.

Bro looks significantly more composed in this one, hair coiffed and rump planted on a plush red couch next to a tall, slender woman with a platinum blonde bob and violet eyes like a shot to the head. Mom Lalonde. The relation between them is so clear it’s a fucking miracle people didn’t figure it out sooner: same heart-shaped face, same thin build, same fine hair. Bro stands out, though, against that red couch-- being an albino asshat will do that to a guy. Even now you can see the dark circles peeking from behind those impenetrable glasses and the forgetful stubble of a few days high coating his jaw. What really draws a caustic wave of feeling from Dirk’s stomach, though, is how much they look like him and Roxy. He has Mom’s freckles and aquiline nose, she has Dave’s smug smile and pale curls.

Dirk places Cal on the couch next to him for bro support as they start to talk.

Roxy. Dirk. I presume you do not know us. At least, you do not personally, but we know you. We are your forebears. You are, through convoluted shenanigans of time and space, our children, and our siblings.

dont even fucking ask, its a long ass story for some other time.

I hope that if you are watching this video it means that we have done our job, and that you are safe. Unfortunately, that also means that we are long dead, and the human race has been nigh eradicated by an aquatic alien batterbitch.

Dirk blames mom for his sesquipedalian tendences. Rose sips her martini and rests the glass on her thigh.

This may seem strange, us knowing these things about you some four hundred-odd years prior to your birth. We know because I have seen the future you inhabit, and the alternate universe we all were a part of on a different timeline. In that universe, and in this one as well, I was a seer. Correction, I am a seer. If that sounds far-fetched to you, I suppose that whether or not you believe me is irrelevant; because the situation stands that you are there and we are here and we know that you need to survive. It must be so. I can’t tell you why, but you must trust us.

we tried to make some nice pads for you to stay in, so even if youve got to lay low at least youre doing it in a place that doesnt suck conk. the two of us talked it out and decided that itd be in your best interest to have some sort of shit to educate you in how to do basic human stuff and teach you essential life lessons and all that crap, since the only other people you are going to have is each other. in a way these videos are also to remember us by, because, you know, we will be dead.

## \---

Talking to the unblinking eye of a camera lens doesn’t help when you’re trying to be sincere. Dave takes another drag on a cigarette and tries to forget how shitty he is at sincerity as Rose picks up the slack in explaining this double-reacharound clusterfuck that’s screwed over the entirety of the Earth for generations to come. She’s composed, as always. That’s just like Lalonde, confronting death with the same casual flippancy that she uses in ripping apart Crockerian critics, stopping only to take a sip of wine and trim her fingernails.

Sometimes Dave gets sober enough to wonder why things had to be this way: fucking his ecto-sister behind the back of a paparazzi that hounds them down on a daily basis, robbed of all privacy and most of his dignity and hunted by a centuries-old alien sea-Hitler. When that happens, he smokes another joint or throws back another gulp of whiskey.

Dave doesn’t even know this hypothetical motherfucker who will be his brother-son in four hundred years. How does that work? Once upon a time Rose went step-by-step through the stork’s crack-induced hallucinatory nightmare that is Ectobiology in an attempt to make him understand; he ended up nodding vacantly and downing most of a handle of Lalonde-strength vodka. He just figures out the coordinates of the meteor that the baby is riding in on and builds the appropriate countermeasures to make sure the kid gets safely into his apartment in Houston. That’s where Rose said he’d end up, and they had spent years planning and compiling the supplies to sustain one person for their entire lifespan; like emergency rations and desalinators can make up for human presence and someone to raise them.

its probably better im not there. Dave says in a different recording session, alone on his couch that smells like pot smoke and stale liquor, id be a shitty parent. hell, i AM a shitty parent. present tense. i am the shittiest parent, give me the ‘world’s worst dad’ mug and a fucking award and a kazoo salute.

If the guys at the studio could see him now. Dave the stoic, Dave the badass, Dave the motherfucking unshakeable asshole: reduced to whining about bullshit that would give wizard novels a run for their money in the “what the fuck” department. Even kid-bro probably thinks he’s being weak.

ill do what i can though. it aint much but i guess its better than nothing.

well i don’t know how old you are right now, but lets start with the basics. this right here? that’s the letter “a”. as in applejuice. can you try to write that, little man? goes like this...

## \---

Dirk keeps the videos running on loop, sometimes. He learns how to talk by watching Dave’s mouth move and the sound drawl out over and over and over again. The first time he talks to Roxy on video-chat, she even comments on how much he sounds like Bro.

youve eevn got the same accenit  
even*  
accent*

A little bud of pride (or something like it) blooms in his chest. Talking to someone who talks back is a strange phenomenon, but it’s nice. It’s a nice reminder that he is, in fact, alive.


End file.
